


Mistletoe and Whine

by Historical_Muse



Series: Robin Hood (BBC 2006) [4]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, Mild s2 spoilers, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Historical_Muse/pseuds/Historical_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to the song, "Christmas is love, Christmas is peace; a time for hating and fighting to cease." Not at Nottingham Castle it isn't...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe and Whine

**Author's Note:**

> No, the title is not a spelling mistake. ;¬)

Sheriff Vasey was a big fan of Christmas.

It was a time for eating and drinking – _especially_ drinking – and for having presents, _lots_ of presents, given to him by vassals, minions, and toadies who would be _wise_ to lavish gifts upon him if they knew what was good for them.  And if they _didn’t_ ; well, then, there was a particularly dark and rank-smelling spot in the dungeons just waiting to be warmed by their arses – the prospect of which was, given _some_ of his so-called friends, even _better_ than a present as far as Vasey was concerned.

Sir Guy of Gisborne, on the other hand, was less enamoured of the festive season; “make the yuletide gay” was not a phrase likely ever to willingly enter his vocabulary – and this was due chiefly to the Sheriff in his guise as the Lord of Misrule and his passion for one particular traditional custom... 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Allan twisted round yet again to stare in awe at his behind in Guy’s bedroom mirror.  “ _Niiiiiiiice!_ ”

Guy scowled angrily at his lieutenant, even though he agreed wholeheartedly with Allan’s statement of the downright obvious.  “I swear, Allan, that if you say ‘Niiiiiiiiice!’ like that just _once_ more, I am going to hang you out of the window by a bow string tied to your balls.”

However, today nothing was going to dampen Allan’s sunny mood and **_joie de vivre_**.  “Awwww, you wouldn’t,” he grinned, his hands smoothing the tight black leather over his arse as he admired his reflection yet again.  “Even the _Sheriff’s_ not _that_ kinky.  Besides, we don’t have time!”  He batted his unfeasibly long and luscious eyelashes before turning his attention back to the mirror.  “Looking _good_ ,” he drawled merrily, still stroking his arse and clearly impressed by the way the new leather breeches emphasised his thighs and the not-inconsiderable bulge at his groin.  “God, I was _born_ to wear black leather – the tighter the better.  Shoulda done this _years_ ago!”

Guy folded his arms across his chest and eyed the boy from head to toe, an appreciative grin spreading across his face:  Allan’s assessment of his charms as emphasised by his new uniform was far more accurate than he realised.  “So what do you say?” Guy asked sardonically, steering his thoughts away where they were heading – which currently meant straight to his cock.

Allan was twisting and turning again, licking his bottom lip in concentration.  “Ummm -?”

“The magic words,” Gisborne sighed.  “Your new uniform.  What do you say?”

Allan stopped preening and looked across at him, a wicked, mischievous grin splitting his face.  “I say, ‘fank you very much for my nice new uniform, Gizzy’!”

Guy rolled his eyes at Allan’s sing-song voice and irreverent manner.  He’d let the insolence pass for now.  Besides, insolence and tight black leather really _did_ look good on Allan a Dale.  Almost as good as he looked out of it; especially naked, on his knees, whilst –

“Oh!” Allan suddenly exclaimed, blue eyes huge and anxious, as he jolted Guy back to reality.  “I didn’t get _you_ anything!”

Guy gave him a wry smile.  “Never mind that now.  Come on, we’re late – the Sheriff _hates_ being kept waiting at Christmas...”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Great Hall was decked with boughs of holly, ivy, and mistletoe, whilst flames roared around the huge logs in the fireplace and candles and torches burned in every sconce.  The tables, dressed for the Christmas feast, were already groaning with food – and instead of bishops and other nobility, seated around them were all manner of members of the castle’s staff, from falconers and ostlers to the night-soil man.

Allan stared around him, eyes drinking it in.  “Woss all _this_ , then?”

The Sheriff, oozing insincerity like pus, waved him to a chair and bade him be seated between Sarah, the Lady Marian’s maid, and the Sheriff’s latest barber-surgeon, whilst uneasy-looking reeves and other local dignitaries stood clutching baskets of bread and pitchers of wine and mead.  “It’s what we do here at Yule,” he smirked.  “It’s an ancient custom whereby just for one day masters become servants and – er – well, vice versa.”

“Oh, _nice!_ ” exclaimed Allan, looking far too pleased by this for Guy’s liking.

Vasey pointed at Allan’s appointed chair impatiently.  “Well go on, sit down!”

“Lovely!” Allan chirped, sitting down and elbowing Sarah in the ribs as he helped himself to a loaf of bread.  “’Allo, darlin’,” he winked at her, seeing her melt instantly with the power of his smile.  “Fancy a nibble on my crusty cob?”

Guy turned to the Sheriff.  “A word, my lord, if I may?”

“If you _must_ ,” Vasey sniffed, allowing himself to be drawn to one side.

“The Lady Marian –” Guy began anxiously.

“Oh, _her_.”  Vasey’s smile was full of malice.  “Don’t want her to see your ignominy, Guy?  Worried she’ll think you less of a man afterwards?”  He flapped away the thane of Edwinstowe as he approached them, proffering a basket of loaves, and then stroked Guy’s shoulder in an unsettlingly proprietorial fashion.  “Well don’t worry, Guy, she’s not here.”

“Where is she, then?”

Vasey plucked grapes from a platter of fruits offered by a man he knew kept the largest tavern in Worksop and a string of mistresses throughout the Shire.  “Gone on retreat,” he replied mildly, tossing a couple of grapes into his mouth.  “At least, that’s what she said.”

“Gone on retreat _where_?”

“Back to the convent of the Sisters of the Immaculate Conception, of course.  Said she wanted to be close to God at this time of the celebration of the birth of Christ.  What – you thought she might’ve found her way to Hood and his gang?”  The Sheriff snorted.  “No, that one just _thinks_ he’s God.”

Allan’s voice broke into their conversation.  “Oi, _Sheriff_!  This masters as servants...thing.  Are _you_ doin’ it as well?”

“You really should keep that boy on a shorter leash, Gisborne,” the Sheriff snapped at him icily, before turning to answer Allan’s question with a grotesquely fake smile.  “No, I’m afraid not, my lad.  Well, I _am_ Sheriff, after all.  My castle, my rules.  Now _Gisborne_ here, on the other hand, _will_ be participating.”

“Oh, _sweet!_ ” Allan exclaimed cheerfully, his mouth full of bread and mead.  “I’m gonna enjoy that!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

And Allan _did_ enjoy giving orders to Guy, much to Guy’s discomfort, though the older man persevered as his lieutenant demanded he fetch him food and wine.  He even smiled – albeit through gritted teeth – when Allan, face flushed red from drink and the heat, pelted him with bread rolls if he considered that Guy had taken too long about it.

However, it was Allan’s persistent over-familiarity which made Guy’s disgrace complete.  At first, the sly strokes of Allan’s hand across Guy’s thighs and arse were soothing and arousing, and made his shameful position more bearable – but when the furtive caresses became nips and pinches as Allan became more intoxicated, Guy could no longer restrain his temper.

Not that complaining to Sheriff Vasey got him anywhere.

“Oh _do_ grow up, Gisborne, for the love of Christ.  So he keeps goosing you – quite appropriate to have a goose at Christmas, I’d’ve thought.  Goosy-goosy Gizzy, eh?  Just get over yourself and get on with it.”

“ _Must_ I, my lord?” Guy hissed angrily.  “Why must you subject me to this – this _humiliation_ every year?”

“Because I _can_ , Gisborne,” Vasey replied with a smug smirk.  “And because I _enjoy_ humiliating you.”

Guy’s face reddened with anger and embarrassment.  “That is not _right_ , my lord!  Neither right nor – _honourable_!”

The Sheriff flicked his hand at Gisborne, as though dismissing him.  “Gisborne, who’s – _Sheriff_ here, hmm?  A clue:  _I_ am.  So you’ll shut up and wait on these peasants and _like_ it.  Because don’t forget who pays your wages, Guy.  More importantly, don’t forget who provided that nice new leather uniform for your... _boy_ there.”

“Yes, my lord,” Guy fumed, biting back the words he wanted to spit back at Vasey.

“– Is the correct answer...  Yes, it was _me_ who helped pay for that tasteful little number.”  The Sheriff chuckled lasciviously.  “And very... _charming_ he looks in it, too.  I’m sure he looks just as delightful out of it.  And if you want to – _keep_ your boy, you’ll do as you’re damn well told.  Understand me?  Now do as I say – and take your punishment like a man...assuming you’ve still _got_ balls after Marian worked you over, that is...  Oh, and remember,” he added in a low, conspiratorial tone.  “No chastisement of the boy for this, do you hear?  No, no, no, no, no, no, no.  ‘Tis the season, and all that.  No punishment of any kind.  Unless, of course, I’m allowed to come and watch...”

“My lord, I promise you I will not –”

Vasey cocked his head towards Allan meaningfully.  “Good looking lad.  Bent over a table to take his punishment.  Nice hearty slap or two on firm, up-tilted buttocks, followed by a little spot of sodomy.  Nice way to round off the evening, don’t you think, eh, eh?”

Gisborne’s lip curled in disgust.  “Yes, my lord.”

All the same, the Sheriff had unintentionally given him an idea.  Vasey was _so_ sure that Gisborne would be unable to resist punishing Allan for what he’d done, Christmas role-reversal or no – and even if he _didn’t_ get to watch, just the thought of Allan being beaten would be sufficient to excite even the jaded Vasey.

But despite all his cock-sureness tonight, Allan was still the closest thing Guy had to a friend – and even though he’d been angered by Allan’s conduct, Vasey’s cruelty had sickened him.  Allan at least had given him a friendship he’d never known from anyone else.  Therefore, if he _had_ to take out his annoyance on his lieutenant, there were more benign ways of doing so... 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“Well, I enjoyed that!” Allan declared with a sleepy yawn as he tugged off his sword-belt and tunic and then pulled his little truckle bed out from beneath Guy’s bed.  “Lovely grub, and enough drink to float a coracle or three.  You did very well, Gizzy, my old son,” he added, combing his fingers through his hair until it stood up in tufts.  “I was very proud of you.  If the Sheriff ever kicks you out, there’s a career waiting on in taverns ahead of you.”

“You think so?” Guy replied sourly.

“Well, of course you’d need to _smile_ a bit more.  Don’t want to put the customers off their food and ale.”

“Really...”

Allan continued undressing.  “Trust me, I know these thing –”  He froze as he felt the searing heat of Guy’s body close behind him and the warmth of Guy’s breath on his skin – and then he moaned as Guy’s fingers began to fumble at the lacings of his breeches and his mouth pressed hot, wet kisses against the side of his neck.  “Guy, if this is about me pinching your arse earlier...”

Guy’s low rumble of laughter excited Allan as it vibrated against his skin.  “In a circuitous way it is.  Do you remember what you said about your new uniform?  How you hadn’t got _me_ anything for Yule?”

Closing his eyes with a contented sigh as Guy’s hands slid into his breeches and began stroking his cock and balls, Allan fought to stay alert as for fear that Gisborne was planning something involving himself that he possibly might not like.  “Mmmmmmm... _yeah_...”

Guy chuckled deep in his throat, his strokes growing firmer on Allan’s stiffening cock.  “Well, now I know what you can give me for Yule.  I’m going to make you pay for your loose and wandering hands at dinner.”  He dragged Allan around and pushed him towards the centre of the room.  “Take off your boots and breeches and then go and bend over the table.”

“Oi, it’s still _Christmas_!” Allan protested as he stumbled towards the table, pulled off his boots, and stepped out of his breeches.  “You can’t tell me what to do until after midnight!  You – _oh_!”  Turning round, he saw Guy throwing the last of his clothes onto the floor.  “Oh well, that’s _different_!” he grinned, eyeing Guy’s impressive erection as his master walked towards him.

“Just don’t tell the Sheriff,” Guy laughed, voice unsteady as his body moulded itself against Allan’s back.  “Promise?”

Allan merely grinned even more broadly, reaching for the pot of grease that Guy had dropped next to his hand on the table.  “Don’t worry, Giz!  Your secret’s safe with me – and a happy Christmas to _you_ , too!” 

*~*~*~The End~*~*~*


End file.
